The Freedom Ch. 05

byThe_Maestro_Braddock©

"I'm sorry Wendy, but like I said, we are about to leave. Nice to see you though."

"Oh, Alice...I wish I didn't have to do this," I confessed, allowing my voice to drop the sweet tone, "Just remember, later when you think about this day, you brought on yourself."

"What do you—"

She stopped mid-sentence as I leveled the gun at her.

"Invite me in why don't you, Alice?"

"Wendy?"

"Invite. Me. In!"

"Please, Wendy, you don't—" she tried to dissuade me while backing down.

I shoved her into the house, cutting her off.

"Where's the husband?"

"U—up—upstairs."

"Tell him to come down here. Tell him nothing."

Eyes wide and wet with developing tears, Alice turned towards the staircase and shouted upward, "Vic? Vic?"

"Just a sec, Alice. Still need a shirt."

I threw her a look and she tried again.

"Just a second, honey. I...need you right away."

"Okay, okay," he said with a trace of exasperation and loped down the stairs. He turned left towards her when he hit the bottom, completely missing me. I took him in. He was shorter than my usual type, only about 5' 7" or 8" but I could certainly appreciate how he could put a little youth in Ms. Bobbins life. He was in great shape with jet black hair and genial ease to his stride.

"What's up, Alice?" he asked, confused by the look of fear on her face.

"A...former student stopped by," she whispered and pointed over his shoulder.

"Oh. And that couldn't wait for me to get a shirt?" He turned around with a broad smile ad began, "Hey, sorry about the lack of—"

He came up short when he saw the gun.

"Wait—," he exhaled panic.

"Shut up," I ordered and then looked over his shoulder at a cowed Alice, "You did good Alice. I like what I'm seeing."

"What's goin—" Vic tried to speak again.

"Your wife here was...well, let's call a spade a spade here, Vic. She was an absolute bitch to me when I was a student."

"Okay, okay...let's slow down," he spoke measuredly, hands out at his sides in reassurance, "I am sure whatever happened can be rectified without a gun."

Alice jumped, "Yes, Wendy...I am very sorry. I know I was awful back then. But...please...none of this is necessary.

"Necessary?" I grinned, "Of course it is not necessary. But it wasn't necessary to treat me how you did either, was it, Alice?"

"...no, no. I know that. I was a mess. Please, Wendy, forgive me. But don't shoot us."

I ignored her and focused on Vic. "Vic, I'm going to need you to focus here and not do anything to make me angry or nervous. Because, between you and me, I think I'd prove rather reckless at that point."

He nodded.

"Great. Now do you have any rope? Scarves?"

Again, he nodded.

"Well, let's go then. You too Alice...don't think I'm going to trust you to be on your best behavior."

I marched them in front of me up the stairs to their bedroom. Alice, trying to negotiate with me the whole time, pushed through her drawers until she found a collection of scarves. I instructed her to hand them to her husband which she did, hands perceptibly shaking.

"Get on the bed," I offhandedly instructed.

"Wendy, please, you've—" my former teacher pleaded.

I pushed the gun against her cheek and dragged it provocatively across her lips, down her neck and then slid it between her breasts. She visibly quivered. I looked into her eyes and smiled, dark evil crinkling at the corners of my mouth.

"I said," I whispered flatly, now jabbing the tip of the gun into her sternum, "Get. The. FUCK. On. Your. Bed."

She swallowed a sob and followed the instruction, crawling from the foot to the head of her king sized bed. I watched her ass sway back and forth and unconsciously licked my lips. She was in great shape, period, not just for her age.

"On your back."

She complied, eyes visibly wet with tears.

"Now tie her up," I commanded Victor. He looked as though he were a million miles away.

I closed in on him and lightly caressed his neck.

"What do you smell?" I whispered to him, pushing my body against his.

Dazed he replied, "Peppermint."

"What's it make you want to do?"

He gulped before replying, "Fuck. It makes me want to fuck."

"Mmm, that does sound good. Maybe later," I cooed, before letting my voice go hard and harsh, "For now though...Do. Whatever. The. Hell. I. Tell. You. To. Unless you like the idea of watching your wife bleed out."

He blinked out of his trance and nodded, guilt and fear owning his facial features.

"Now get over there and tie her up!"

He did so, moving both robotically and frantically. Too slow, then too fast. Rigid then floundering.

He tied his Ms. Bobbins first wrist, whimpering an apology. She sniffed back her tears and nodded, trying to reassure him it would all be okay. It most decidedly was not going to be okay.

"Tighter," I demanded without any idea how tight it was. I just wanted to amplify their terror. It was delicious. I could practically hold it in my mouth, swirl it over my tongue. It danced like tiny bits of ball lightning over my skin. I was severely tempted to make them watch me masturbate to multiple climaxes right there and then. I held fast though...what I had planned was much worse, much, much more promising.

She groaned as he moved to the other wrist. With her arms outstretched, her shirt pulled tighter across her breasts. Again, I found myself staring with appetite. For a woman who'd never even considered another woman as a sexual partner, I sure was becoming obsessed with tits since The Freedom "blessed" me.

Victor looked up at me when both wrists were tightly secured, a silent hope skirting across his eyes. Maybe, it seemed to say, this will be enough. Maybe this is all she wants. But it was not what I wanted.

"Legs too," I gestured with an air of disdain. Watching the hope slip away from me was almost as erotic as seeing Officer Klein begged to be fingered before the car accident. I had reached the point that destroying people's lives was just as much of a turn-on as the sex that followed.

As he tightened his wife bonds, I dragged the heavy wingback chair from the corner of the room and deposited at the base of the bed just far enough away to ensure that Ms. Bobbins could see it clearly from her position on the bed but still close enough that I could affix one side of it to the footboard with a set of handcuffs.

"Get in the chair!" I barked at Victor a moment later, confident he had adequately restrained my former teacher. He sulked over, body sagging as if all the energy had been sapped from him.

"It's hard, isn't it?" I whispered to him as he settled into the seat, cushions airlessly hugging him.

"Wha?!" he responded, involuntarily shielding his crotch from my view.

I giggled cruelly, "I mean, it is hard not to fuck me right now, isn't it? That's where all your energy is going right now, huh? Resisting that impulse to just bend me over the bed and taking me as rough as you want because you know I'll let you? And that I'll love it?"

I licked his face then, enjoy the feel of him shaking like a junky in need of a fix. He bolted towards me, to attempt to escape, overwhelm me, or give in to that naughty impulse, I don't know. Instead he found that I had cuffed him to the arm of the chair when he was distracted by my words.

"Uh-uh," I teased, sashaying backward towards their walk-in closet, "I'll let you know when you can touch. First, I need a costume change."

I disappeared into the cavernous wardrobe, whistling at the size of it. Clearly Vic and Alice were living well. While Ms. Bobbins whined and whinged unproductively and her husband ineffectively assured her everything would work out, my eyes drooped and I let myself go inward, let the Freedom guide me fully. It makes no sense, but it just seemed to know what clothes in the closet to change into, the outfit that would turn Victor on the most. When I came out of the trance, I was wearing an Oxford blue dress shirt, a red, lacy pair of boy shorts, and simple black high heeled shoes.

I imagined the Freedom had found me Vic's favorite pre-sex clothes ensemble for his wife. A moment later, when I slowly revealed myself to him, letting my leg languidly ease through the first, a flash of red lace briefly visible, the expression on the husband's face confirmed my hypothesis.

"So, you like?" I cooed, dropping down to a crouch, spreading my legs, then quickly snapping them shut and popping back up to standing. I am fairly certain I had never done anything like that until that moment and yet, I performed it like a pro.

He tried to avert his eyes, instead attempting to focus on his wife. Alice laid, restrained, a grimace of disapproval and fear affixed on her features. I shook my head and allowed a light laugh. His attempts at resistance made me feel even more excited.

"So, Ms. Bobbins...sorry...Alice, when you wear this, does Victor just become a beast?" I sarcastically asked, crossing the room towards an iPod and speakers sitting on a sidetable.

She did not reply.

"What I mean to say is, Alice, is this what you wear when you want your husband to fuck your brains out?"

She visibly winced but still refused to say anything.

"I only ask because, and I'm being honest here, I plan to get my little cunt well fucked by your husband but I have something of a tight schedule so any advice you could give me would be oh-so very helpful."

She clenched her jaw and remained firm in her convictions. I slapped her hard and she gasped. Before she could clench back down I slipped the gun into her mouth.

"Suck it, nasty teacher. Show me how a bitch like you sucks your man's dick!"

"Stop!" Vic objected as his spouse attempted to simulate oral sex on a firearm.

"Not until she answers my question," I disdainfully replied.

"How's she supposed to do that with a gun in her mouth?"

Even the monster that The Freedom had twisted me into had to admit there was a sort of logic to that.

"Fine," I sniffed, "You answer then!"

"You need to stop," he pleaded, "This needs to end now. Please...just leave."

"Answer."

"I'm not being a part of this!"

I flipped off the safety, intoning, "I'd be careful. This is my first time ever holding a gun. No idea how easy it is to pull the trigger."

"Okay, okay," he gasped in panic, "Just...don't. Okay? I'll answer."

"Don't tell me you'll answer, just fucking answer."

"Fine. Fine! Yes!"

"Yes?"

"Yes, I like when she wears that outfit!"

"And?"

"And...and...I...it makes me want her."

"You don't want her already? She's your wife, for goodness sake!"

"No, I mean...that, well..."

"It's okay, Vic, say it. You know you want to."

"It makes me want to fuck her, okay?! I just lose it and I want to fuck her hard and rough and nasty. Is that what you want to hear?!"

I giggled, "I don't know, man, that was pretty graphic."

"Just...please," he groaned, pulling hard on his cuffs, "I answered."

"Yes, yes you did. But now I have more questions."

"Why?" he croaked.

"Come on, now, Vic," I said, heavily enunciating the last syllable, "We are just getting to know each other. This'll be fun, I promise."

He sighed and slouched down in the seat, the universal sign of defeat. Meanwhile, Ms. Bobbins continue to do her best to suck off the cold steel, tears shining up her eyes.

"Mmm, I do love a well managed man. You made a smart choice. So, Victor, I am sure Alice here looks great in it. I bet she's just scrumptious. But what I wonder is...which one of us looks better in it?"

"I don't..."

"Come on, Vic, it's a simple question. Which of us looks hotter in your favorite fuck outfit? Who gets you harder?"

"...you..." he mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Sorry?"

"...you..."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to look up, make eye contact with this wife of yours, watch her let me mouth fuck her with my piece, and say which one of us makes you harder in this little ensemble."

"Please..." he whimpered.

"I just realized...I think you want me to pull this trigger so you can fuck my tight little holes without any guilt because you'll be a widower."

"No! Wait! Please don't!" he panic screeched.

"Then. Just Answer. The. Goddamn. Question!" I hissed.

"Fuck!" he spat ineffectually, locking eyes with his wife. He mouthed something close to "I'm so sorry," and then confessed, "You, Wendy. You...look hottest."

I slipped the gun out of Ms. Bobbins' mouth, smiling broadly, and curtsied. "Why thank you, sir."

As I programmed the iPod, I talked to my teacher, "You hear that? Your husband likes my tight coed body. He wants to fuck me, Alice! Just met me and can't wait to feel how tight I am!"

"That's not what I said!" he objected.

"Well..." I teased the word, turning it deliciously over my tongue, "You kind of did. Ladies can hear it, right Alice?"

Ms. Bobbins shook with a sob but refused to acknowledge me and did her best to hide her tears.

"See," I giggled, "She knows."

I hit play, turned the volume up, and moaned with glee as Prince's Cream throbbed out of the speakers.

Swinging my hips dramatically I strutted across the room, strategically placing myself directly in both of the spouses' field of vision. While both attempted to avert their eyes, The Freedom pumped the room with its irresistible pheromones and soon neither could manage to look away. I was quickly learning that The Freedom was not airborne and thus the pheromones did not carry it. However, the pheromones did beat you down, rob you of your agency, and leave you easy for the taking.

Feeling their eyes staring, horrified and yet hopelessly enthralled, I could feel my body throb as though it was being stroked by numerous talented hands. I licked my lips, swayed, dropped down and popped up, bent over blatantly, and briefly caressed myself. As the sick disease in my veins dumped still more endorphins into my blood and conjured further visions of wild moral degeneration in my brain, I grew bolder. Soon, as Prince gave way to the unrelenting pulse of a Hyper Crush remix, an unexpected track on a teacher' iPod for sure, I tease at stripping.

"Vic," I called out, "I am thinking about taking off my clothes. Would you like to see me naked?"

He groaned behind me, his eyes fixed on my firm ass as I shook it. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him visibly bite his tongue, tears filling his eyes. I could almost literally feel his resistance dividing us, a poorly constructing, rapidly crumbling wall. It felt delicious on my skin as it continued to inexorably collapse.

I knew I could have destroyed his will, crushing in with a blunt instrument of just getting naked. But I wanted him to ask for it, to beg for it. So The Freedom laid out a far more deliciously devastating plan.

I climbed up onto the bed and crawled toward Ms. Bobbins.

"Mmm...teach, I owe you an apology. I've been paying so much attention to Vic over there," I turned back over my shoulder to make sure his eyes were taking in the sensual curve of my back and the blatant shimmy of my hips as I moved forward. He stared forward in a hungry, empty-eyed gaze, filled with lust but no humanity.

I chuckled blackly and then began to speak to Alice again, "So, you comfortable there Ms. Bobbins?"

She blinked herself out of a slumped shoulder daze, eyes transitioning from confusion to panic to anger in seconds. But behind the anger, try as she might, I saw her gaze slide downward, resting on the downblouse I was so generously presenting her with.

"I have to know, teach," I whispered to her, my mouth turning up in a teasing grin, "Did you ever think about me after I graduated?"

"Wendy, please..."

"No, no, it's okay. I know you'd never be inappropriate when I was in school. But I stayed in town. I think you saw me once or twice. Did you check me out? Hmm? Did you give me a look over? Did you think about inviting me over? You know, to... 'keep you company' while your hubby was away?"

"Wha...no, Wendy, no. Is that what this is about? I...I'm straight. And much older than you. I'd never..."

"Shh...don't worry, Ms. Bobbins, I won't out you. Our secret."

She shook her head hard, blushing scarlet, "No! Wendy! I mean it! Not. Interested!"

I smiled wider and began to walk my fingers up her bare legs. She shuddered and shook, gasping. I fixed my eyes on her and let me tongue slightly separate my lips. My hand disappeared under her skirt and she began to twist and thrash as best she could. I ignored her bodily objections, my hand pressing into her panties. She moaned openly, eyelids fluttering.

"Are you sure I don't turn you on?" I teased her, "Because these panties are sooooooooooo wet."

Alice could only hiss and groan in response, involuntarily pushing harder against my palm. I giggled and pressed my lips against her ear, whispering, "You are such a dirty little whore, aren't you?"

She shook harder in reply. My hand grabbed her underwear roughly and yanked downward, exposing her. Her resolve crumbled further and she moaned out, "Oh fuck, touch me" out loud.

I tsked her as I tore the panties apart, allowing me to take them off her. I clutched the shredded underwear in my fist and let them both see me breath her scent deeply in.

Behind me, Victor said a barely perceptible prayer, "Taste them."

"Say it again," I commanded him, "Louder."

With a broken sigh, he repeated, "Taste them."

"What?" I played dumb.

"Taste my wife's panties. Taste her off the cotton."

"Mmm....I like the way you think, you bad, bad boy," I snickered and then turned to Ms. Bobbins, "Would you like that, teach? Would you like to see my tongue scoop your nasty cum off your soiled panties?"

She nodded quickly, ashamed but unable to deny the strange desires.

"Doesn't that feel better? To admit what a pervert you are, Alice?"

Without waiting for a response, I theatrically ran my tongue over the shredded cotton, moaning and groaning and "mmmm, yummy"-ing loud and long. The couple both writhed against their bonds, bodies and brains betraying them. They were trapped between desperate lust and a sort of muddy confusion. They remembered their real desires and fetishes, I imagine, but could not reconcile them with the new flood of feelings. The truth was the pheromones were so pervasive in the room almost anything would be arousing to them. The Freedom just instructed me to manipulate them into believing sick, buried lusts were the cause. It was a form of subliminal advertising, taking the overwhelming physical sensation my chemical aura forced them to have and convincing them it is the product of what they've always felt but would never admit. They weren't possessed by The Freedom, sure, but they must have felt like they were. Like they were losing their minds. It was nothing but their will being reduced to ash, but I doubt they could tell the difference.

"Mmmm, delicious," I declared, dragging the wet ruined underwear across and down my body until I let it slip from my fingers to the floor. Ms. Bobbins whimpered and rolled her hips, eyes begging. I leaned back over her, careful to push my body against her own and cooed in her ear, "You disgust me." The way she gasped in response, you would have sworn I was lapping at her molten core.

I leapt off the bed as Michael Jackson's "Can't Stop (Til You Get Enough)" rose out of the iPod speakers. Catching Victor's broken salivating glare, I broke out the most stereotypical stripper moves I could manage. As I yielded to the beat, my disease guided my movements, enhanced my abilities. In moments, I became the classically trained dancer who went on to become the hottest dancer at the highest end strip club.

Buttons popped and bounced all over the floor as I ripped open the dress shirt. Rigid nipples sprung free, bra tossed into some dark corner of the room. Sopping boy shorts swiftly pushed to the floor and stepped out of. I spun and shook in the center of the room, stomach undulating, hips rotating. My hands roamed freely, tangling in my hair, groping my tits, caressing my abs, cupping my cunt momentarily.

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